


For a Girl This is Not an Acceptable Plan

by bluemermaid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two lonely girls go on the run.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For a Girl This is Not an Acceptable Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary come from The Long Blondes' "Separated By Motorways," on which this fic is (very loosely) based. I hope you enjoy it!

Pansy was standing by the bar when Ginny walked in. She was alone, wearing her Quidditch robes and carrying a broomstick, which she set delicately against the wall before approaching the bar. Pansy fixed a sneer on her face and hoped that Weasley wouldn't start anything. She wasn't in the mood for old-school arguments.

Ginny slid onto a stool and flashed Pansy a grin, which surprised Pansy a bit. "What's a posh thing like you doing in a hole like this?" Ginny asked. "I doubt you'll pull a nice, rich Pureblood bloke in here."

"I'm already engaged," Pansy snapped back, taking a sip of her vodka and trying to look elegant. It was stupid how easy Ginny made it look, her legs dangling from her seat. She was wearing a pair of tight white trousers underneath her dark green robe; they didn't appear very feminine, and yet somehow the outfit worked on Ginny. Pansy frowned and tore her eyes away. How could she feel like less of a woman, when she was the one in a dress?

"Ah, they've paired you off already, then," Ginny said, nodding, with a knowing little smirk on her face. She raised her hand to get the bartender's attention. "A beer," she said. Ginny slid sideways on her stool and looked Pansy over with a slow eye. "So, why are you here, then? Need a break from the high life?"

"I'll ask you the same question," Pansy replied. "Shouldn't you be at some five star restaurant, celebrating with your entourage? Surely such a superb athlete as Miss Weasley never has to drink alone, a million fans around your ankles every moment."

Ginny laughed. "Yeah, I have that," she said, and Pansy hated the casual arrogance of her tone, like it was no big deal to have admirers. "But I don't exactly relish it."

"Why not?" Pansy pressed, gripping her glass so hard that her fingers were starting to hurt. She watched as Ginny received her drink and took a sip, pursing her lips as Ginny's throat worked to swallow the harsh liquid.

"Fame's not all it's built up to be," Ginny said. She brushed her hair out of her face; Pansy watched her fingers carefully. Ginny blinked slowly and narrowed her eyes, her lips twitching in a dangerous smile. "You're not really engaged, are you?"

"I am," Pansy said. "To Theodore Nott." She didn't say that she hated Theodore, because he was slow and boring, because he called Pansy his sweetheart and never smiled when he kissed her. She didn't say it, but Ginny could hear it anyway, and Pansy let out a little gasp as Ginny grabbed her wrist. "Get your hands off me," Pansy said, with no conviction in her voice at all.

Ginny made a little noise of amusement. "You know," she said quietly, as her fingers rubbed little circles on Pansy's skin, "they wanted to marry me off, too. But I was never really interested." Her eyes met Pansy's.

"Not interested?" Pansy declared, her voice shrill with anxiety. Ginny was touching her, and her gaze was predatory, there was no other word for it. "You could have had Harry-bloody-Potter, how could you not be interested in that? The whole world wants him."

"He's not my type, Pansy." Ginny's voice grew harsh, and she released Pansy's wrist. Pansy touched her skin where Ginny's fingers had been, staring down at her hand as though she had never seen it before. "Maybe he was, once. But that was a long time ago."

"I need to leave," Pansy said, putting a hand to her forehead. She'd already had far too much to drink. The lights in the pub flared in her gaze like brilliant explosions. "I don't know why I'm talking to you, anyway, Weasley."

"Don't bring up all of that old-school bullshit," Ginny said in response, glaring as she downed the rest of her beer. "I should think we've grown past such stupid stereotypes by now, haven't we?"

Pansy looked down into her glass, where barely a sip's worth of vodka swirled around at the bottom. Ginny's words brought back memories of endless sniping across classrooms, gossip and anger and jealousy. "You might imagine," Pansy said bitterly. "But old habits do die hard."

"Pathetic," Ginny said, turning away from Pansy and resting her elbows on the bar. "Why don't you go home, Parkinson."

Pansy stood stunned at the bar, clutching her glass and staring as Ginny proceeded to ignore her entirely, ordering another beer and looking out at nothing. Pansy felt as though she'd missed something important, as though she'd ruined the moment. But what sort of moment could there be between two women who hardly knew one another, and shared such a complicated history? Whatever it was, there was no surprise in the ending of it. Pansy ruined and missed a lot of things.

 

*****

 

She woke up with her cheek pressed against her kitchen counter, with an empty shot glass beside her and a collection of magazine photos strewn around her head. Pansy snorted and rubbed her face groggily as she sat up, looking around blearily as she tried to put the rest of the evening together. Drunkenly pitying herself once again, it seemed. Reaching out, Pansy picked up a couple of pictures. Cutouts from Witch Weekly, featuring pretty young models in wedding gowns. Pondering her upcoming marriage to Theodore, of course. Pansy would never look as lovely as a Witch Weekly model, but at least she could have a nice dress for the occasion. Pushing the pictures aside, Pansy grimaced and stumbled from the kitchen, heading for a nice hot shower. She would have to clean her flat again before meeting with her family. She was not looking forward to either of those things.

How did her home always get so untidy? It seemed Pansy was cleaning every other day, and it made her miserable. She missed her old home in the country, with her house elves and her grand, elegant bedroom. But of course she would never go back to that lovely mansion again. They'd lost most of their money in the months after the war ended, when Father got sent to Azkaban and Mother had to pay for his defense team. Only the best for Papa Parkinson, even when he was clearly going to lose his case. Pansy had to confess that she was looking forward to moving into Theodore's home, which had always been larger than the Parkinson place, anyway. Was it so bad to want someone to clean up after her? She was just used to it, was all. Cleaning was such an annoyance.

Pansy brushed her teeth, desperate to remove the horrible taste of stale alcoholic liquids on her breath. She spat into the sink and glared at herself in the mirror. She was pale and peaky, with dark circles under her eyes and her hair sticking out in all directions. "Like I've been murdered," she said, and quickly glanced around her, lest there be someone mysteriously present to listen to her talking to herself. She half-expected the mirror to say something in response to her mad mumblings, before she remembered that she couldn't afford a magic mirror anymore.

Her shampoo smelled of lavender; Pansy scrubbed hard at her scalp whilst she showered. She thought of Theodore and how he would probably never compliment her scent, never care what sort of shampoo she used. She wondered if he even cared about anything at all. He was always so solemn. Then she thought of Ginny Weasley, and the bright sparkle in her eyes as she looked carefully at Pansy's little black dress. Pansy looked down at her wrists, with traces of soap suds curling around her arms. There was no mark where Ginny had touched her, and yet the very memory of the contact made her skin burn. Theodore had never touched her so, so, so what, exactly? So bluntly, so forcefully, so possessively? Pansy rinsed her arms off and leaned her head against the wall.

 

*****

 

"Pansy, there's just nothing wrong with these chairs," Mrs. Parkinson said sternly, with her arms crossed over her chest. "They're lovely."

"I demand to know what Theodore thinks," Pansy replied stubbornly, jutting her chin out as she gestured towards her intended husband. Theodore wasn't listening, of course, wasn't even looking in their direction. He was gazing off into some daydream, doing nothing. He might as well not even live on the same planet. Pansy was determined to get something out of him. "Theodore, will these be all right for the party?"

"Don't bother him with such frivolous questions," said her mother, taking Pansy by the arm and steering her away from the man. "It's a woman's job to detail the wedding; you know that, dear."

"I just want him to acknowledge I'm alive," Pansy said bitterly. "Doesn't he care about anything?"

"Now, now," said Mrs. Parkinson, patting Pansy's shoulder. Pansy hated that. "Times have been hard for all of us. There'll be plenty of time for caring after the wedding vows."

Pansy looked over at Theodore, who was slowly stroking the top of a chair. He glanced over at her and stiffened as their eyes met, nodding shakily before turning his face away. "I doubt it," Pansy said, under her breath so that her mother would not hear her.

 

*****

 

Ginny pushed her plate aside and rose from the table. "I'm going out," she announced to the room at large, trying not to make eye contact with her mother. "Practice."

"Ginny, you're always off to practice," Molly chided her, making a hurried sit-down motion with her hands. "You've hardly touched your food; eat something, there's a girl." Mrs. Weasley smiled as Ginny reluctantly took her seat. "Now, then, practice can wait, can't it? And what have you been up to lately? Any nice young men in your life? You never bring anyone home, we're all waiting to meet someone special for you."

"You mean you're waiting," Ginny corrected her, before stuffing a mouthful of potatoes into her mouth. She gulped it down, grimacing at the hard lump traveling down her throat. "Nobody else cares who I bring home, mother."

"Well, now, that's just not true," said Molly with a frown. "We all want you to be happy."

"Happiness is not equivalent to dating," Ginny replied.

"Of course not, but there must be someone you're interested in."

Ginny smiled mischievously, as though indulging in her own little private joke. "I'm not getting married, Mum."

"Ginny, you're a grown woman, you're very beautiful, and I'm sure you could have any nice man you wanted. The rest of the family's all settled down, you can't play Quidditch for the rest of your life."

"What about Charlie?" Ginny asked angrily, rising again from her seat, flinging her arm out in the general direction of Romania, as though she could point to her absent brother for demonstration. "You've never pestered Charlie to get married. I'm the only one who has to sit here every weekend and listen to your lectures about bringing home a nice young man and spitting out babies."

"Your brother Charlie has a steady job and an independent life," Mrs. Weasley said. "I can't exactly go marching up to Romania banging on his door to 'pester' him, now can I? He's made his choice and I have to live with that."

"You mean it's 'cause he's got a prick," Ginny snarled.

"Ginevra Weasley, don't you speak to me like that," Molly said dangerously, pointing a spoon at her daughter.

"I have to play the sweet young girl role and do my womanly duty," Ginny said, flipping her hair over her shoulders. "I have to lie back and think of England, cooking and cleaning and suckling babies just like you. Well, I'm not like you, Mum, so just leave it, all right?" She brushed crumbs off her robes. "I'm going."

Mrs. Weasley stood staring as Ginny swept away from the table. "Ginny," she called out, but Ginny ignored her, storming from the room and slamming the front door behind her as she left. "Ginny, you apologize this instant!" Silence rang through the house. "Oh, dear," said Molly, sitting down gingerly and wiping her forehead with a cloth napkin. "How I wish your brothers were here." It was quiet in the Burrow, and a mother missed her children, even Ginny. Especially Ginny, some days.

 

*****

 

Pansy walked into the pub and made her way quickly to the counter, where she slapped her hand down for service. "Vodka," she demanded. "With something fruity in it, I don't care. I need a drink."

"Rough day?" Pansy startled and stared at Ginny Weasley, wondering how on earth she could not have noticed her sitting there. Ginny had a half-smirk and a tired look in her eyes. "You could always tell me about it. Who knows, I might even understand. That would be mad, wouldn't it?" Her smile widened slightly.

"Oh, Weasley," Pansy said, shaking her head. "You couldn't possibly. It is mad, it's utterly mad. This is a mad world we live in."

"My name is not Weasley," she said firmly. "Not to you, anyway."

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Fine," she replied. "Ginny." She shivered, and looked behind her. There was nobody there. Why did she feel suddenly like there was a dark shadow looming over her head? She sighed heavily. "Why are you here?" Pansy demanded shrilly. "This is my pub. You shouldn't be here."

"I wasn't aware you owned the place." Ginny grinned at her. "Come on, Pansy, have a seat. Tell me your troubles. You obviously have troubles." She laughed. "No offense, of course. I'm sure your troubles are very delicate and high-society. Couldn't land the richest man at the ball?"

"Fuck you," Pansy snarled. "You don't know anything about me or my family."

"You're right, I don't," Ginny replied, suddenly subdued. She took a sip of her beer. "I apologize." There was a pause, in which Pansy glared furiously at Ginny and tried to make herself leave. She didn't, and Ginny looked up at her hopefully. "Can we start over? I've fucked up, obviously, and I'd like to make it right." Pansy said nothing. "I meant it when I said I might understand, you know."

Despite her brain shrieking at her to do otherwise, Pansy sat down beside Ginny at the bar. "The sad thing is you're almost right," she said miserably. A drink was placed before her, and Pansy took it. "I did fail to land the richest man at the ball. But it's not even about his riches anymore." She snorted in disbelief. "Well, it is, a little bit. But it's also about feeling something, you know?" She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I've gone broke, and it almost doesn't even bother me anymore. I've gone numb with it. Theodore Nott's going to marry me, and I don't even know why. I've got no money, no charm, and he doesn't seem to care whether I live or die. Two nonentities circling around one another, neither of us finding anything to care about. What's the point of it?"

"What's the point of anything, really? You just try not to be too miserable," Ginny said, leaning back in her seat. "Just don't marry him if the thought is so horrifying to you."

"Not marry him?" Pansy felt like her mouth must be gaping to the floor. "And disappoint two families? Oh, no, it isn't up to me to just not marry him." She scoffed. "How I'd love your independence."

"Ah, yes, my vaulted independence," Ginny replied, with a grand sweep of her arm. "Grueling Quidditch practice each morning, forced smiles for the fans, entertaining the male-dominated world with the cheeky wit they expect of me so they can gawk at me then put it all in the papers, and evening dinners with a mother who's just desperate to marry me off to the first man who asks me. Such freedom."

"Being a famous Quidditch player, with the pick of any man you want isn't a life of pampered luxury? Please," Pansy sneered. "You could have anything you ever wanted with only the snap of your little fingers."

"Not everything," Ginny replied, staring at Pansy, who squirmed in her seat. There was just something so frightening about Ginny's stare, the threat in it. The threat of what, Pansy did not know, but that it was a threat she was certain. "If I had my say in it, Pansy, I'd be sitting here in this dark corner every night, sipping my drinks with the locals. But, of course, for a girl that's hardly an acceptable way of life. I'm lucky to get out here once a week." She flashed a quick grin. "And as for having any man I wanted? I'm not exactly interested."

"But why the hell not?" Pansy pressed. She downed her drink in one go and gestured for another. "Why wouldn't you choose someone? You don't have to get married, Merlin, play the field, at least. I know I would, if I didn't have Mother breathing down my back. But you're famous, and you don't have any of that Pureblood intermarriage pressure on your shoulders."

"Actually, I am a Pureblood, Pansy. I know it's so hard to tell." Ginny laughed. "Still, your point stands, I'm probably not nearly as pressured as you are. Though you don't know my Mum. But none of that matters, don't you get it?" Her voice started to rise with feeling. "It's not about marriage, playing the field, any of that shit. It's about the men, Pansy. I don't like the men."

"But there's so many of them," Pansy said. Or at least, she started to say, but her voice petered out as a slowly-dawning revelation came to her. Ginny was staring at her so intently, and Pansy's grip on her glass faltered, so that it slipped from between her fingers and bounced on the table once before tottering onto its side. "Oh," Pansy said.

"Well, thank Merlin for Anti-Shatter spells, eh?" Ginny righted the empty glass and pushed it aside. Then she looked back at Pansy and started to laugh. "You look a riot right now, I mean it. I am glad you finally see it, I was about to shoot ginormous sparkling letters into the air above your thick little head."

"But that's disgusting," Pansy spluttered, fumbling, fanning her face as she felt her skin heat up to an absurd degree. Another drink slid her way, and she gulped it down desperately, as though it could help her swallow this realization. She coughed roughly as the cold alcohol seared her throat. "Do you mean you fancy –?" She couldn't manage to say it. "That's unnatural."

Ginny frowned and tapped her fingers on the table impatiently. "You just take your time settling into that," she said. She stared at Pansy.

"Well, I can't even think with you ogling me," Pansy demanded. "Get your eyes off me."

Ginny smirked. "Whatever you say." She turned away.

Pansy dropped a gold Galleon onto the bar, to cover her bill. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and looked wildly about, uncertain as to what she wished to do. She wanted to leave. She very much wanted to run out the door as fast as her heels would carry her. But something held her to her seat. What did she have waiting for her at home, anyway? An empty flat, stuffed to the gills with wedding plans. Pansy had always wanted to get married; she had never imagined it could be quite so repulsive as it was turning out to be. Ginny's shining red hair was slipping off her shoulder; her freckled hand rested casually on the bar. Pansy could still remember what Ginny's fingers felt like, clenched around Pansy's wrist. "Show me what it's like," she said breathlessly, quickly, words tumbling over one another in the rush to exit the mouth. She hardly knew what she was thinking.

"Hmm?" Ginny looked as though she weren't even sure who she was speaking to, as though Pansy were simply an interesting stranger who'd said nothing at all.

"Show me," Pansy said again, tasting the words on her tongue. She was equal parts disgusted and aroused. It was unnerving; her entire body shook. "What it's like. To do things. With girls."

"No, I don't think so," Ginny said calmly, her lips twitching. "I'm not an experiment, Pansy."

"I didn't say you were," Pansy said, drawing her chest up. She was miffed by the response, for hadn't Ginny been hinting towards this the entire time they'd been sitting together? Pansy could feel it like a magical aura emanating from Ginny's body, desire curling off her skin in invisible waves.

"You said I was disgusting," Ginny pointed out, "not but two moments ago. I'm supposed to accept that and snog you anyway? That's not how it works."

"Then how does it work?" Pansy demanded, angry, one hand on her hip as she slid off her stool and cocked her head in Ginny's direction.

Ginny smiled and turned away again. "Come back when you find out."

"You have some serious mood swing problems," Pansy snapped, pointing at Ginny. "Don't play with my emotions. I have enough trouble with them already."

"I am not playing with your emotions." Ginny rolled her eyes and flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "I'm just waiting for you to figure out what it is that you want."

"How should I know? I've no one to teach me." Pansy brushed a stray piece of hair off of her forehead. "I feel dreadfully alone."

"You and me both," Ginny replied. "But I don't think forcing yourself on me is going to magically solve all your problems." She grinned, a terrible leer. "You have to really want it."

Pansy could feel the two drinks she'd gulped down slowly sneaking up on her, like a fizzy fog of bliss creeping over her shoulder. She was fine, she felt perfectly normal, and yet it was in the distance, coming for her. "I don't think you have to really want it," she said, looking again at Ginny's hands and arms, marred with freckles and tanned from outdoor Quidditch matches in the sun. "There's got to be some comfort in shared misery, whether or not you really know the person."

"Yeah, but I didn't say you had to know the person," Ginny replied. She reached out and touched Pansy's shoulder, her fingers light and warm. "I only said you had to want her."

"You want me," Pansy declared; her stomach twisted at her words. "Look at you staring at me so, your hands all over me. Don't deny it; you want me. It's painfully obvious."

"My feelings aren't the ones in question," Ginny said. Her eyes were bright in the multicolored lights of the bar. "You're the one acting like this is some kind of game, testing me because I'm an oddity. Like wanting to pet the exotic creature in the zoo just because it's different. Most of the time, you only end up getting bit. Do you want to get bit, Pansy?"

The words sent a pleasant little shiver down Pansy's spine. She thought about Theodore Nott, who had touched her back once, leading her through a garden path on his family's estate. She'd felt nothing at all at Theodore's touch; she'd attributed it solely to Theodore's lack of emotion concerning anything at all. But here Ginny had only barely tapped her shoulder, and Pansy was feeling all sorts of incredible things. It was the tone of Ginny's voice, and the words she spoke; they created such a thrilling symphony. There was more in what Ginny said than in the most complex of spells. Not even Draco Malfoy had made Pansy feel such a tumultuous mixture of emotion, and Draco had once been Pansy's fantasy husband in her fantasy ideal life.

"I don't know what I want," Pansy said shakily, "but you make me feel things."

Ginny laughed. "Good," she said. "I want to make you feel things."

"Merlin," said Pansy, "is this normal? I must be pissed, and yet I've hardly had anything to drink."

"Well, have another," said Ginny, raising her hand. "Let's make it a party. You can tell me what's normal later."

"Theodore is supposed to be normal," Pansy said later, her words coming out slurred and silly, punctuated with giggles. "But he's flat as a doormat. He's nothing at all; he's grey. I'm colour, though, don't you think? I feel like I'm colour. What colour am I?"

"Something brilliant," Ginny replied, leaning against Pansy's shoulder, grinning fit to burst and sloshing drink over the sides of her glass with every movement. "Green, maybe. But a brilliant green, like emeralds. Fuck, no, that's cliched bollocks." She coughed. "You're not just one colour, Pansy; you're all of them."

"Yes, I am all of them, aren't I?" Pansy looked over at Ginny; they were close enough to count each other's eyelashes. Pansy reached out with one finger and touched a particularly dark freckle on the side of Ginny's face. "But you, you're red, of course. Fire engine red."

Ginny made a face of disgust. "Of course," she repeated, in a mocking tone. "I'm always red. Red, red, red." She rolled her eyes. "What if I wanted to be purple, or yellow, or blue? Nobody ever thinks about that. I have to be red, it's expected of me. Brilliant red, with a red husband and twenty red children."

"Well, don't be red, then, if you don't like it," Pansy said sharply.

"I'm not red," Ginny said.

"Neither am I," Pansy countered, and then it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to kiss her, until Pansy leaned over too far and slid off her stool.

Ginny burst into laughter and slammed her fist on the table. "You are so drunk," she said, stumbling slightly as she alighted off her own seat. "Come on, Pansy, we need to get you home."

"Yes." Pansy's eyes widened as she allowed Ginny to pull her to her feet; the lights flared and the room spun slightly. But Ginny was warm and firm beside her, and Pansy held onto her arm as they made their way into the street. "It's so dark," Pansy marveled, having grown used to the bright lights of the bar, and squinting in the low glare of the streetlights.

"Tends to do that, when the sun goes away," Ginny replied, and laughed again. Her laughter was an electric buzz in Pansy's ear, a rumbling vibration in her stomach. It felt nice.

"Am I going home?" Pansy asked, with a sudden sense of alarm. She couldn't go home, her home was empty. It would be less empty with Pansy in it, but it would still be empty, with only Pansy in it. Pansy didn't want to be in it.

"Do you want to go home?" Ginny asked. They stopped on the corner, in the shadows. It was dark, and somewhere an owl hooted. There were no people about, which struck Pansy as odd, but she couldn't articulate a proper thought as to why. "Is that normal, then, going home? Have you decided what normal is yet?"

"What? No." Pansy pulled herself away from Ginny, awkwardly patting her dress down, straightening her hair. She felt dizzy and vibrant and alive, and yet so tired. "There is no normal, is there? Everything is just... what it is, and that's normal. What was the question again?"

Ginny slipped her arms around Pansy's waist and pulled her in close, grinning like a cat about to catch the canary. "The question is," she said, and pressed her lips to Pansy's, sending a jolt of piercing panic through Pansy's chest, a panic which very quickly subsided into warm pleasure. The kiss was brief, however, and Ginny was still grinning when their lips parted. "What do you want?"

"It's maddening, but I want this," Pansy mumbled, pushing forward, kissing Ginny again and again. "You feel so good." She was whining, now, desperately begging for something that could not be named. The elusive "normality," perhaps. But what did it matter what normal was? If Theodore Nott was supposed to be normal, Pansy would rather be mad.

Ginny pushed Pansy up against a wall which was cold and hard against Pansy's back. But the background didn't matter so much, when Ginny was pushed in so warm and close. Ginny laughed her rumbling laugh again and moved her lips to Pansy's neck. Pansy closed her eyes, giving herself over to the pleasant sensations of Ginny's teeth against her skin and Ginny's fingers on her breasts. She ran her fingers through Ginny's hair, so much straighter and silkier than Pansy's hair. "Feels good," Pansy muttered, and Ginny bit her neck harder. "Ahh, feels so good."

Ginny grunted and slipped her hands into Pansy's robes. Pansy was pushed up hard against the stone, and her head swam from the swirling happiness of sex and inebriation. Ginny smelled like flowers and sweat, and her hands were rough and calloused on Pansy's skin. Ginny gripped Pansy's leg and pulled it up against her hip, holding Pansy tightly to her as she stroked the outside of Pansy's knickers. "Are you sure?" Ginny asked, one finger nail scratching lightly at the fabric, making Pansy want to whine again. Ginny's eyes shone, though her smile was fading. "You want me?" There was a deep intensity to her gaze, giving Pansy that piercing pain in her chest.

"I want you if you want me, Ginny," said Pansy sharply, frustrated at the pause in the action. "Don't lose that endearing Gryffindor spirit now."

Ginny grinned and hooked her fingers under the band, pulling Pansy's knickers downward. "As you wish," she whispered. "You're really something, you know that?"

"I might be," Pansy said, feeling giddy. "But you'd hardly know, we've barely spoken to one another, have we? I'm just a quick fuck in the alley for you." She giggled. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Pansy, I am going to be the best alley fuck you've ever had," Ginny replied. "Now hold still and let me get these things off you."

It was rather awkward, the both of them lacking proper coordination and all, but they laughed like loons as Pansy shimmied out of her underwear, leaning hard on Ginny as she did so. Arms wheeling, eyes shut tight, Pansy danced on the pavement, and Ginny shoved her hard back up against the wall to still her. "I said keep still," Ginny said sternly, holding Pansy's arms tight. "Spread your legs."

Pansy felt a burning wetness between her legs, coupled with electric currents shooting through her chest and stomach. She'd participated in sex acts before, in varying degrees, so she wasn't exactly a virgin. She'd even enjoyed some of them, if she did say so herself. But it seemed "enjoyment" was a sliding scale of emotion, because Pansy had never felt the way she did now, watching Ginny's hands slide down her body as she slowly lowered herself to the ground. "Won't your knees hurt?" Pansy asked stupidly, breathless, feeling her heart beat hard in her throat.

Ginny grinned up at her. "I think I'll have more important things on my mind," she said. "Besides, these are padded trousers, for broomstick comfort."

"Oh," said Pansy, and then, "Ohhh," again, as Ginny leaned forward to kiss her. Waves of pleasure, so powerful they hurt, made Pansy's legs quiver, and Ginny grunted down below as she licked at Pansy's wet folds. "You've done this before," Pansy said, strangled and jealous and flushed with hot desire.

Ginny didn't say anything; she only licked harder, tightening her grip on Pansy's legs.

 

*****

 

Pansy awoke with a warm, throbbing dampness between her thighs and the hazy, half-remembered memory of a very nice dream. She was sprawled out on her sitting room sofa, disheveled and hungover and confused. She'd done something wonderful and strange the night before; it gnawed at her gut like guilt. She pondered, and remembered with a quick flush of her cheeks. Ginny.

"Oh, fuck," said Pansy, tumbling off the couch. There were clothes strewn about again, and she was supposed to meet with Theodore, and she was thinking about Ginny's tongue and it was getting her all flustered and moist. Pansy grabbed her wand off the table and flicked it at the loose bits of old clothing, taking them along with her as she stumbled through her flat. She would try to do some laundry later, once her head had stopped spinning.

She tried not to think about Ginny as she changed her outfit, as she brushed her teeth, as she pinned her hair back. She tried not to think about soft lips and desperate tongues, about the heady rush of freedom and naughtiness that had come from being pressed up against that stone wall. She tried not to, but it was hell trying to get ready with a hangover and she didn't really have all that much else to think about. Theodore Nott didn't stick too well in the brain, that was for sure, he being so grey and all. "Shut up," Pansy admonished herself, shaking her head as she stomped out the door. She was really going to appreciate having a Floo connection once she moved into Theodore's place. Apparating tended not to go so well for her, especially when she was feeling sick already. She was probably going to vomit straight into Theodore's flower bushes.

Pansy was trying very hard not to think about what "moving into Theodore's place" really meant. It was proving difficult.

"Oh, you're early," Theodore told her, as he opened the door wide and beckoned Pansy into his home. "Did you want something to drink?"

Pansy snorted. "No, thanks," she said dryly, pressing a hand to her forehead. As expected, she was dizzy from the Apparition. "Theo, can we talk, please?"

He nodded, and led her into his sitting room, a place that made the entirety of Pansy's flat seem ridiculously small. "Have a seat," he said. Pansy sat primly on the edge of a plum velvet armchair, staring up at Theodore with a mockingly adoring smile, hands folded on her lap. What would she give to crack his miserable shell? What would she even find inside if she did manage it? Cobwebs and crumbs, most likely. "So," Theodore said, and Pansy rolled her eyes. "What brings you over so early?"

"Are you attracted to me?" Pansy demanded.

Theodore blinked at her and wrung his hands. He always made everything so bloody obvious. "Er, what brings this on all of a sudden?"

"Well, we are to be married," Pansy drawled, leaning back on the seat. She might as well make herself comfortable; they didn't both have to be miserably prim all the time. "It would be nice to know ahead of time if there was any chance at happiness for either one of us."

"There are other ways to have a good marriage," Theodore said without looking at her. "It doesn't have to have strong attraction right away."

Pansy narrowed her eyes and glowered at him. "So you confess you feel nothing for me."

"Not... nothing," Theo said lamely. "Look, what is this all about? You and I have always known what this marriage was meant for. I thought we had a, a rather quiet understanding about things."

"I find I tire of being quiet, Theodore," Pansy told him, feeling rage boil in her chest. "And I don't know if I can marry a man who doesn't want to press me against walls and lick at my cunt."

The words sent a giddy thrill through her, and the feeling only increased as she savored the look of pure shock and horror on Theodore's face. "Pansy," he said, pathetically, and shivered as he glanced around him, as though searching for the nearest exit. "Please."

"Don't worry," said Pansy, rising, and brushing roughly past him as she made her way back to the entrance hall. "I'll find a more pleasant way of breaking the news to my mother."

"Pansy, please," he called after her, but she only slammed the door as she left.

 

*****

 

Pansy hopped from one foot to the other as she stood at the counter, frowning in her very best attempt to be haughty and classy at the same time. "Don't you know who I am?" She demanded, leaning forward with her eyes wide. She didn't feel like she was being very convincing, and the glare of the ticket man seemed to agree with her. "Oh, please, I've just got to get these tickets, I've just got to. I'm going spare over here, can't you see? I need to get into this match."

"Sorry," said the man, not sounding sorry at all. "We've been sold out for days. We always sell out when the Harpies come around."

"Sod the Harpies," Pansy snapped, brushing her hair off her forehead. She huffed. "I hate the bloody Harpies."

"Have a lovely day," the ticket man sneered at her, before shutting the window in Pansy's face.

"And a bloody brilliant one to you, too," Pansy retorted. She closed her eyes and pressed her temples, trying as hard as she could to contain her inner urge to explode. It wouldn't do to completely go mad in the middle of the street.

"Need tickets?" The question was bright and laughing, and Pansy's heart stopped at the sound of it. "I might be able to arrange a pair for you. If you ask nicely."

"Ginny," said Pansy, turning to face the other woman. She looked different in the daylight; Pansy realized that she had never properly seen Ginny outside in the sunlight. Her red hair shone, and she looked taller for some reason. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I don't know, word is I might be playing here in an hour or so," Ginny replied sarcastically. "You might have tried buying a seat a little earlier than this, if you really expected to get in."

"I don't go to Quidditch matches," said Pansy as an explanation. She'd only come in a desperate attempt to meet Ginny, but Pansy felt foolish now, standing before the object of her nearly-failed mission.

"Yeah, that's apparent." Ginny eyed Pansy's glittering robes with an amused expression. "So, what brings you? Care for an autograph?" She laughed.

Pansy clenched her hands into fists. "You laugh," she said. "How can you be so cruel, after what's happened between us? I've been trying to reach you for days. I have no idea where you live, or how to speak to you. Were you really going to just have your way with me in an alley and then abandon me like this? You're a horrible human being."

Ginny's smile disappeared; she seemed taken aback. "Do you really mean all that? Merlin, Pansy, if I'd known – ."

"Known what?" Pansy demanded, her voice going shrill. Her heart was pounding like mad in her chest; she felt like she was going to burst.

Ginny stepped closer. "Well, if I'd known, I might have given you my Floo," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I just really thought you wouldn't be interested."

"Not interested?" Pansy asked, her mouth agape. "Why on earth would I not be interested?"

"Close your mouth, you look like a fish," Ginny said, cocking her hip. "And don't act so insulted, Pansy. You're the one who called me disgusting, remember? You could barely even look at me without a few drinks in you, never mind snog me or anything. I thought you were only in it for the experiment. I thought you were afraid of getting bitten."

"Well, you bit me," Pansy said, sneering. "And I enjoyed it, surprise, surprise. You could have at least asked before Disapparating from my life."

"Well," said Ginny. She was smiling, but there was something troubled in her eyes. "I suppose I ought to be sorry, shouldn't I?"

Pansy glared at her for a moment; they stood in silence. "I've broken my engagement," Pansy said finally, dropping her gaze and crossing her arms over her chest. "Everyone hates me, but I've done it anyway. I was too miserable to go on. You can have your fun with me and leave, laugh if you'd like. But I'm not going back to him."

"Pansy." Ginny touched Pansy's chin and lifted her head. Her thumb rubbed little comforting circles on Pansy's skin. "Don't you see, you silly girl?" Their eyes met; Pansy felt another jolt in her chest. "I'm as lonely as you are."

"Lonely?" Pansy nearly snapped at her again, denying that she could be any such thing. Pansy Parkinson, lonely, please. But, honestly, she didn't have the energy to lie about it. It was obvious she was lonely; she had been ever since the war had broken out. Draco had drifted away from her, Theodore had hated her from the moment she'd been assigned to him, and Pansy had felt like a drifting flake of ash in the cold breeze of terror the world had found itself in. She didn't even know who she was anymore, and she hated everything. Well, almost everything.

Ginny's fingers on her skin, the look in her eyes, it sparked something in Pansy that she had never quite felt before. Perhaps it was finally a true attraction to another human being, something that went deeper than a simple envy for riches and position. Riches and position didn't even seem to matter anymore, if they came with the grey of Theodore. Ginny's riches, her position, they were secondary to the fire in her gaze and the strength in her grip as she took Pansy's hands in hers. It was a little overwhelming; Pansy could scarcely breathe.

"Don't be a fool, Pansy," Ginny said, as her smile widened into a grin. "You're lonely, I'm lonely, there's clearly an attraction between us. Let's see where it goes, yeah?" Her grin turned wicked. "We'll bite each other."

Pansy took a deep breath, and felt some of her old strength and bite coming back to her. "Why do you think I'm here, Ginny?" She asked, smirking, and she squeezed Ginny's hands.

Ginny laughed. "I've got an hour before I have to be inside," she said. "Come for a walk with me."

"All right," said Pansy, and they ran away together.


End file.
